Animorphs 20: the Discovery
by Tobias Mason Park
Summary: I'm David. You've probably heard the story of the Animorphs, but I doubt that you've heard of me. I guess I'm sort of the new kid. I'm always the new kid. A few months ago, I was an ordinary kid. Now, I'm an Animorph.
1. Chapter 1

_**Imagine a picture of David morphing a Golden Eagle**_

_**Cover Quote: Get ready, there's a brand new Animorph…**_

_**With great power, comes great responsibility...**_

**CHAPTER 1**

I'm David. Yea, it's a typical name for a boy my age; big whoop. I really could care less what you call me, if you want to know the truth. I've been called lots of things over the course of my life. It's gotten to a point where it doesn't bother me anymore. So if you want to call me David, alright. If you want to call me moron, that's fine too; I'll shrug it off like any other comment. You can call me jerk, geek, loser, or even _hey you!_ Trust me, I won't bat an eyelash. I could really care less about someone else's opinion of me. I mean, is it really going to make the kids at school like me anymore if I say, _'Yea, I really am an idiot?" _No. No it will not. I've learned that, in life, there are going to be a lot of people who don't like you. Call me a cynic; I don't care. I think of myself as a realist. People think in different ways.

You see, I move around a lot. And I mean a lot! I've lived in over a dozen homes in the last five years and in at least six different states in my entire life. You name it, I've lived there at some point: Chicago; Philadelphia, Florida, New York City, and even Alaska for a few months. My dad's in the Secret Service, and he gets stationed in different places every so often. It's sort of cool, I guess. I got to meet the President once when I was six. I've flown in jets and have ridden in limos and stuff like that. And my dad makes a lot of money, so I get a lot of presents for Christmas and birthdays. I have pets too. I have a cat named Megadeth, and a real live King Cobra named Spawn. You're really not supposed to have those, but my dad got me one. Sure, it had the poisonous sacs taken out, but it's still pretty freaking cool! I mean, how many kids do you know with a live cobra living in their room? Not many, I bet.

So yea, I move around a lot. So I guess you can't blame me for not wetting myself with excitement when it came to moving into yet another small town. Sure, it looked nicer than most places I've lived in—there was this one place in Philly that looked like New York City during the night time—but so what? Just because a place looks nice, doesn't mean the people living there are all sweet and friendly. Trust me; I've been to a lot of places, so I've met quite a few assholes in my lifetime.

Oh, that's another thing you may want to know about me; I swear an awful lot. Then again, a lot of people my age do. I'm just not the type of person who goes out of the way to avoid swearing just to be polite. Even in my assignments at school I can't seem to stop myself from letting a swear word slip into the paragraph. I wrote this one paper on the Catcher in the Rye, and my teacher told me that I reminded him a lot of Holden Caulfield. But he didn't mean it as a compliment. Then again, I doubt if one can think of a comparison like that as a compliment. Holden wasn't really an easy kid to get along with. He was very opinionated.

So there I was, riding in the back seat of my dad's convertible, staring blankly out the window at another nameless town. My cat was in the crate next to me, and Spawn was being kept in the trunk. My mom doesn't like Spawn. Snakes make my mother nervous. She nearly killed my dad after he got me the snake for my birthday. I like a lot of cool and unusual things; which is why I named my pets Megadeth and Spawn. A lot of kids I know thing I'm bragging whenever I talk about Spawn. But I couldn't care less what they think. A cobra is freaking cool, no matter who you are.

My dad kept talking about how this was _definitely the last time we'd be moving like this_; which was a huge lie. I was five when he said that the first time. The last time he said it had been when we moved to New York, and that lasted about three months before he was shipped to another place I could care less about. And now he was going on and on about how nice the house was, and how many great programs the school had to offer. And he was berating me about making friends, and how I had a fresh new start.

"You can be anyone you want to be, David." My Dad said, grinning from the driver's seat. "Nobody knows you here. You don't have to worry about people passing judgement on you."

The entire time I was mouthing his exact words. Like I said, I move around a lot, so I've heard this speech before. Dad's not always an easy going guy, but he's alright most times. My mom, on the other hand, is a handful. She always makes a big deal whenever my dad and I try to have fun; like when we went hunting that one winter before Christmas break. It was hunting season, and we had a hunting license, and she still made an issue of the whole thing. And she was always criticising me, like when I name my pets.

"You might want to try to avoid sounding like you're bragging about things," my mother added. She said it lightly, as if she _might _have been joking. But it still sounded condescending either way.

"I don't _brag _about everything." I snapped. "People ask me about myself and I t_ell _them. How is that at all bragging?"

"Well, honey," my mother said. "People might take it as bragging. If you talk about your snake and your father's job…"

"Which you aren't supposed to be bringing up, by the way." My father added.

"All I'm saying, David," my mother sighed. "Is that you have to make an _effort _if you want to fit in."

"What was that, David?" My father asked. I had been mumbling.

"I said, 'I wouldn't _have _to make an effort if we weren't moving around all the time." I said, louder this time.

"Like that's my fault." My father muttered. "The only reason you have a snake, or a cat, or a pool or anything that other kids your age is because of my job."

"Stan, stop yelling." My mother said. "He's only a foot away from you."

"Hey, I'm not yelling." My father said. "He's making it sound as if it's my fault that we're moving so much."

"Well, your job does have a lot to do with that." My mother replied.

"And now _you're _going to start with me?"

And blah, blah blah! They kept going back and forth like that for some time. I've learned to just tune them out when my parents start going at it; loose cannons that they are. It' weird though; they have such short tempers, but they never _actually _yell at each other. Instead, my parents exchange condescending remarks in the guise of jokes. I don't know if that's healthy for the marriage. I try to ignore them.

"We should be pretty close now," my mother said, after a moment's silence.

"Should be another couple of blocks." My father said. "You're going to love the house, Dave."

"I've seen it before, Dad." I mumbled.

"What was that? You were mumbling."

I rolled my eyes and repeated my sentence; only much louder.

"Yes, but imagine all our stuff in this place!" he said, excitedly. "This is definitely the last time will be moving. Trust me Dave; we're going to have a lot of memories in this place."

I decided that I shouldn't bother to comment. My dad was in too much of a good mood anyway. So I just kept my opinions to myself.

We pulled up into the driveway of an admittedly stunning house. Even from the outside it looks pretty great, but I'm not one for description. You'll just have to take my word for it when I say that it was a nice house.

_Don't get too hung up on this house, David, _I told myself. _You guys will be moving to another house in a few months; if not a year!_

"Like I said, David." My dad said. "This is a new town. You can be anyone you want to be."


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, so there I was, a week after we moved in, walking around my new town. Like I said, it was a pretty nice place to live: a decent sized mall, some nice little plazas set up here and there—you know, the standard pizza place, Burger King, Gas station and convenience store set up that you see in a lot of small towns—and a decent enough high school. And the people in town _looked_ like they could have been some decent people. But, then again, looks are often deceiving. I've known a lot of decent-looking people who turned out to be jerks. Sure, the gorgeous blonde with the pearly white teeth _looks _nice enough, but she turns out to be just as threatening as a cobra; only _with _its poisonous sacs intact. And the guys were always just egotistical jerks.

But there was this one part of town that just looked completely out of place. It was a total eyesore. An abandoned construction site located right across from the mall; with plastic wrappers and beer bottles and bums lounging about; rusted pipes and forgotten construction equipment—which shouldn't have been there in the first place, if the city had cancelled all plans for production—and half-finished office buildings. I had just passed through with my bike and had to stop for a moment just to take it in. I only stayed there for a minute or two and continued my solitary tour of my new town.

It was just after noon, so there were a couple hundred people walking around. You know the deal, I'm sure; old men and women taking power walks to prevent heart disease, teenagers walking around and being superficial—you know, walking around with their diet cokes and wearing their hip and fresh new clothes—and the usual dog walkers. Personally, I thought dogs were overrated. They're always so damn happy, it's actually kind of off putting. And dogs always want attention from you! My cat just lies around the house or does his own thing—totally independent! And spawn doesn't really require much attention since he's not what you would call a _domestic _animal.

But yea…people.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not being a complete douche. There were a lot of people that I passed by who genuinely smiled and asked how my morning was. Sure, most of them were the power walkers and the dog lovers, but there were a few good looking girls my age who gave me a quick smile before turning their attention back to their friends. And yea, there were a lot of people who just over looked my existence—what else is new? But I guess there may have been hope for this little, nameless town.

Not that it mattered, though. I'm sure my dad will pull us out of town in a few months.

But I guess that didn't mean I couldn't at least _try _to make friends; even if it was just for a few months. I've tried to be the optimistic new kid; happy to make friends and get a fresh new start. But the kids never liked me, or thought I was too pushy when it came to making friends. And when that didn't work, I tried to wait for someone to talk to me. And when _that _didn't work, I just gave up on making friends altogether. Like I said, we move around a lot. When you start changing addresses more often than you change your underwear, you aren't interested in making friends; especially short term friends.

But have you ever just sat by yourself in the cafeteria? It's extremely depressing. Especially when you know that you could make friends if you really tried. The only thing holding you back the knowledge of the fact that you'd have to move to another town and start all over again. And then people start looking at you, while you're sitting by yourself eating your terrible food, and they start giving you those looks of pity. And then you just start to get pissed off and people think you're a douche.

So yea, I guess my mother had a point when she said I should make an effort to make friends.

When I got back home, my parents were still unpacking.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm the sort of person who just gives up on unpacking all his stuff because he knows he'll just have to pack it all up in a few months.

Well, you're wrong. I'm actually very anal when it comes to my stuff and how I keep my room. I guess you wouldn't know that by just looking at me. It's something I actually hate about myself. I tried to keep all my stuff in those brown moving boxes—the exception being my comforter and pillows—but it was a total eyesore. The room looked cluttered from the pile of boxes in the corner. And yet, it felt bare without all the posters and books that I usually have set up around the room.

That and my cat kept clawing at the sides of the boxes.

So after I helped my mom and dad with all their belongings, I went up to my bedroom and started to finish unpacking my own stuff. There wasn't a lot to do either. I just took a break from unpacking to take a look around town. I already set up my bed, placed all my books in my book shelf—mostly sci-fi and fantasy books—put away all my old action figures from when I was a kid—all placed in their _original _packaging, mind you!—and set up Spawn's cage on top of my dresser drawer. I only had a few other things to put away, so it wouldn't have taken up too much time. Once I was done, I took a good look around the room.

The walls were a sky blue. I hadn't gotten around to painting it, since we only just moved in. I always wanted to paint my room black, with maybe a bit of white scattered about in clusters; to give off the impression that you were in space! But my mom thought that black would have been too depressing. Too depressing, she says! My dad was indifferent. He said, _"We're not going into his room. What's the difference what colour he chooses?"_ And that surprised me, because my dad was such a hard-ass when it came to the condition of our house. And, since we move around a lot, he was always interested in the value of the house.

What was I saying?

Oh yea, describing my bedroom.

So the walls were painted blue, but I had too many posters of various heavy metal and hard rock bands—Megadeth, of course, and some Ozzy—so you hardly noticed the colour. There was some furniture lying around—you know, standard issue stuff like a bed, a dresser drawer and a cabinet for all my clothes—but I'm not really big on furniture. If I had it my way, I would have just the bed and maybe a dresser. There were some knick knacks lying on top of the dresser and cabinet, and there were my old action figures. I also had a stack of comic books—Spider-man, Bat-Man; all pretty standard issue comics—stacked up in columns in my closet; all sorted alphabetically, since I'm so anal when it comes to things like that.

Mom and Dad called me down for dinner. Here's how our conversation went, if you're so interested:

"So, how was your day?" Dad asked.

"Fine, I guess." I replied.

"Do you like the town, so far?" Mom asked.

"It's nice enough." I answered.

"Meet anyone?" Dad asked.

"I haven't started school yet. So…no."

"What did you do all day?"

"Stuff and things."

And that was it.

I'm not even kidding. We had a five minute conversation, ate our dinner, and I went out for the night. My family doesn't converse at the dinner table. I have no idea why, really. It's not like our moving around had any effect on our relationship. And my parents don't fight very often. We just…don't talk like most families. Most of the time, we eat our dinner in front of the television. If we had anything to say, it would be about the TV show we had seen. That's normal, right?

I don't know; I'm not a psychotherapist.

So I took off. I told my parents that I was just going to see the rest of town. And I was, really.

What I didn't tell them was that I was going to be skate boarding at the abandoned construction site across the mall.

So there I was; alone in a place that parents would never want their children to step foot in. I was in the heart of the construction site; attempting to grind off a rusted rail by a low concrete wall.

I won't lie to you. I'm not the _best _when it comes to skate boarding. I actually only had the thing for a few months now; and I've only ridden it twice since.

This was the second time.

Like I said; I'm not very good. Instead of grinding on the railing with the board, I sort of flopped off of the damn thing, and crashed my shoulder into the low concrete wall.

Have you ever crashed into concrete? It's not fun. In fact it hurts. But it didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have. A part of the wall actually crumbled after my shoulder collided with the base.

Behind the rubble I noticed a simple blue box. It wasn't much to look at, really. It was just big enough to fit in your palm; if not an inch bigger than that. And it was coloured a sky blue. I noticed some writing on it as well; like some sort of hieroglyph, or archaic language. It looked like it could have been put there intentionally. But I don't know why anyone would want to hide it here, of all places.

"Maybe this is worth something."


	3. Chapter 3

Alright, so there I was. It was my first day of school. As usual, I would be playing the role of the new kid. It was a part that I knew how to play well. And I've performed it in a variety of different ways, too. I played the cool kid, the mysterious kids, the quiet kid, the angry kid, the bad boy, the smart kid, the know-it-all, and the loner. Who would have thought that being the new kid could mean so many different things? I think I'm being typecast.

I've been to over a dozen schools since I was six years old. My dad told me that I could be anyone I wanted to be. "This is a fresh new start!" He told me. But I've already tried to be something I'm not, and it never really worked. Sure, I did make friends, but the friendships never lasted very long because the people turned into assholes, or I moved away a few months afterwards. I haven't even been to another kid's house in over a year, because I've moved so often. The last sleepover that I was invited to was six years ago; so I was about seven or eight. I could try to make friends today, but would it make a difference? I mean, I could go home right when the bell rang to find my parents packed and ready to move to Alaska again.

I was actually pretty nervous that morning; sitting at the table and eating my bowl of cereal. I had gotten up at seven o'clock in the morning; about an hour and a half earlier than I usually wake up. So I started pacing back and forth in the kitchen; slowly, casually. I didn't want my mom to come down stairs to see me looking nervous. I wasn't in the mood to hear a speech about how "being yourself is the way to make friends." And after a second bowl of cereal, I grabbed my bag and left the house. It was just a few minutes after eight.

The school wasn't too far from my house; probably ten minutes walking distance. I could have taken my bike, but I didn't want to get there too early. I could just imagine all the kids looking at the new kid; eagerly waiting outside homeroom, before the teacher showed up. Yea, I learned from that little mistake when I was twelve, and all the kids passed me by with stifled laughs and stupid little grins. And I wasn't going to circle the school building until the other kids started showing up. Not this time.

I was about five minutes away from the school. But the bell wouldn't ring for a little while. Like I said, I wasn't about to show up early on my first day. The last thing anyone needs is to be branded as the new kid. So I took a left and started walking towards the nearest gas station. That would take up about twenty minutes, tops! And that left me about five minutes before second bell rang for home room. Not too early, but not late. It was just the right amount of time to avoid a needless label.

The gas station was small. It looked worse on the inside than it did on the outside. And it didn't even have a clever name, like most towns. And I've been to a lot of crummy towns, too. At least all those other gas stations put effort into their corner stores. I've seen Bob's Store, Jim's Corner Store, Marty's Gas; small town corner store names. But this place was just called Gas Station. What was this, a hick town? I almost expected a tumble weed to blow past me.

I bought a soda, which was refreshing. If there's one thing my mom hates it's caffeine in the morning. She wouldn't even let me drink coffee. Tons of kids my age drink coffee. But my mother is always ranting about how it stains your teeth and stunts your growth. But the most ridiculous thing she said to me was that coffee tends to lead to other drug addictions. As if my drinking coffee would turn me into a freaking crack addict.

I left the Gas Station—as it was so blandly named—and walked towards my new school. Unfortunately, I didn't take a look at my watch after I left the Gas Station, so I didn't notice that I had about two minutes, not five before the second bell rang. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked up to Homeroom to find that the teacher was just in the middle of taking attendance. And guess whose name she just so happened to call?

"David?"

I knocked on the door. I could hear her voice from behind the glass window. The teacher, Ms. Bing, walked over to the door to let me in.

"I'm assuming that you're David?" she asked. She didn't smile. That was just perfect. I was late, and I just pissed off the teacher. I may as well have walked into the room wearing a Bat-man cape and my underwear.

"Yea, that would be me." I mumbled, walking into the room. Ms. Bing closed it behind me.

"What time did homeroom start at your last school, David?" she asked.

And this teacher had an attitude, too. Well, I think I struck gold!

"I know I'm late." I mumbled. "I lost track of time."

I took my seat and unzipped my bag.

"Well, it would do you some good to keep track of time in the future, David." Ms. Bing said. "One minute, five minutes, two hours; in the grand scheme of things, it makes a difference."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Bing." I mumbled. "I'll try to be on time tomorrow."

"I hope so, David." She said. "Now, as we were saying. Does anyone have any idea of the causes of the First World War?"

So after the disaster that was History class, I had science class. I made sure to keep track of time. I didn't want to mess things up with this teacher like I did Ms. Bing—who I knew was going to fail me anyways—so I waited outside the classroom. Some of the kids from the first period were still shuffling out, so I just leaned up against one of the lockers.

I unzipped my bag and pulled out my blue box. I wanted to give myself something to do. I still had a few minutes before class started. I also figured that someone might know something about it. It seemed to be a good way to start a conversation. Maybe I could tell a girl that my dad found it in Egypt, and it's worth a fortune. Or would that be considered _braggy_?

That's when someone tapped my shoulder. He looked like he could have been Italian or something; tanned skin, black hair, and a bit short. I'm not really good at guessing someone's ethnicity. He could have been European, but I wasn't sure. My second guess would have been somewhere from South America; maybe Brazil, or something. I don't know.

"Hey." He said. He sounded a bit nervous.

"Hey." I said, flatly. I guess it was a bit rude. Excuse me for having a bad morning.

"Hey." He said a second time. "My name's Marco."

"I'm David."

"David…nice name. Good name." he said, lamely. I think he knew how lame it sounded. He was acting pretty nervous. "We don't know each other."

"I'm new." I told him.

He nodded and pointed to my blue box. "So…what's that?"

"I found this at that construction site across from the mall. It was hidden behind a concrete wall, like it was put there on purpose, or something. I think it might be worth something."

Marco then offered to buy the box from me. And that would have been fine if he actually had money. All he really had was some candy, pocket lint and some chump change. I was pretty sure that this thing was worth a lot more than a buck fifty, a bus token and pocket lint.

"Marco, huh?" I said, giving him a look.

He sort of relaxed after that. "Yea. I'm Marco. Nice to meet you."

"Even nicer to say goodbye." I told him.

I felt pretty badass, walking away from Marco right then. Obviously I had something that was worth a great deal of money. I mean, Marco was practically wetting himself when he asked me about it. He should have at least offered to pay more, even if he couldn't pay it right away. I mean, I'm a lot of things, but I'm not stupid. So I guess I'll have to sell it somewhere else. I needed to get people's attention, if I wanted some money for this thing.

I guess I'd be logging on to eBay tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Alright, so after my run in with that Marco guy, I ran home after last bell rang. I was actually pretty excited, really. I might have had something that was worth a great deal of money; something you'd never expect to find in a small town like this. And Marco was really jumpy when he was talking about it, too. The kid was definitely trying to scam me out of something that just might make me a small fortune. And, like I said, I'm not an idiot. If I noticed that I had something of value I was sure to take extra special care of it. And I love money. My dad had a lot of money, but I was pretty much broke. My parents didn't believe in an allowance. Sure, they'd give me some money for lunch or the movies, but that wasn't something they did very often. So you can understand why I was so excited right then, and why I was running home so quickly.

On my way out of the school building, I passed by some kids I recognized from class. They didn't look as though they were together, though. I think they were all just eager to go home. But one of the kids I knew—a guy named Erek King—was talking to a girl with shiny blonde hair. With the girls was a tall kid with light brown hair, and a downcast expression on his face. They looked like they could have been boyfriend and girlfriend, but I didn't see a spark between them. Erek was just like any other kid, I guess. The only reason I noticed him at all was because he was talking to the blonde girl.

I won't lie. This blonde girl was very attractive. I actually slowed down a bit, just to look at her some more. Not that I was some kind of freak or anything. It's not as if I spend my day staring at blonde girls—or any other kind of girl, for that matter. I just thought she was pretty.

Alright, I thought she was hot! So sue me for being a male. It didn't matter though; I knew I had no chance with her. It's not that I was self-conscious or anything. I actually think I'm a good looking guy. I just know people. And there are basically three types of girls. There are the girls that you are in no way attracted to, but are the nicest people you know. There are the girls that are attractive but don't know how attractive they are, exactly. And then there are the girls like that blonde talking to Erek; the really bitchy girls who know they're hot and know that you really want them. Yea, I knew exactly who this girl was. I didn't have to know her name, or much else about her. I've moved around enough times to know what people are like. Trust me when I say that this girl was a bitch!

So, despite how great-looking this girl was, I managed to pull myself away and continue my run back home. And nothing really interesting happened along the way, so I'll just skip to the conversation my dad and I had when I got home. I found him in my room…

"Hey, Dad." I said, throwing my backpack onto my bed. "I sort of need the computer."

My dad turned his head away from the screen to look at me. I don't know why he was using my computer. If he really had to work he should have used his laptop. Besides, there was a lot of top-secret information that my dad was given that I should not have on my hard drive. Did I tell you my dad was in the NSA?

"I'm sort of busy here, Dave." He said, turning back to the computer.

"Would you mind using your laptop?" I asked, carefully. I was too excited to have him in one of his moods.

"My laptop is on the fritz." He mumbled. "This won't take more than an hour."

I just let the conversation drop and sat on my bed. I stared up at the ceiling for a while, just to pass the time. And, when that didn't work, I started on my homework. And, when I finished that, I started pacing around my bedroom. After my dad told me to _"knock it off" _I just lay back on my bed and waited.

And, just when I thought he would log off the computer, he turned to me and said, "It's probably going to be another hour."

So I just left the room; making sure to wait until after I was downstairs and out of earshot of my father to start mumbling and rolling my eyes. The man has some good hearing, but he wouldn't be able to hear me insult him from the kitchen.

Mom has the hearing of a hawk. And she _was_ within earshot of me.

"What was that, David?" she asked, whipping her head around like some sort of owl.

"Um…nothing." I lied. "What are you doing home early?"

"Come on David, you know I work half days on Wednesdays."

My mom has a pretty interesting job, too. She's a dental assistant.

Of course, by interesting, I mean totally lame!

"So what was that you were saying about your dad?"

I sighed, knowing full well that it would do no good to lie to my mother. "I was just saying that I don't understand why dad just doesn't use another computer. You have a laptop, right?"

"Yes, but your father can't use my laptop for work."

"And he can use mine?" I asked. "That doesn't make sense. My computer is just as much of a security risk for his work as yours. What is he really looking for? I mean, it's not like I'm using my computer for anything…dirty."

My mother looked at me with a mock look of suspicion. I could tell that she didn't believe me for a second.

"What's for dinner, then?" I asked, deciding that this what not a conversation I wanted to have with my mother.

"Is pasta alright with you?" she asked.

"It doesn't make a difference what I want." I mumbled. "We're going to have it anyways."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." I told her. "I'll just hang out down in the basement. Call me when dinner's ready."

Our basement is pretty big, I guess. It was about as big as the master bedroom and the two spare rooms combined. And we had a lot of cool stuff down there, like a pool table, a couple of pinball machines—which my mom is always complaining about—a nice, flat screen television set complete with an entertainment system—I'm talking PlayStation, Nintendo, Sega; the works!—and a small work space for my dad.

I knew my mom would just yell at me if I even touched any one of the pinball machines, so I just decided to watch some television. Unfortunately it was only three o'clock in the afternoon; there was nothing good to watch except for old Bug Bunny reruns. Trust me when I say that Bugs Bunny is just not funny. Wiley Coyote is alright, I guess. I like Yosemite Sam and Elmer Fudd, but not Bugs Bunny. Don't even get me started on any of the other characters.

My family usually eats sometime after five. And we have the same meals every week. Today was Wednesday, so we had pasta. Tomorrow would be Thursday, so we will have chicken with potatoes. And we always have the same sort of conversation, too. It gets pretty redundant at times. So I'll just skip to the part after dinner, where I decided to go for a swim.

My dad still had to use the computer, so I just grabbed a pair of trunks and some towels, and ran out back to jump in the pool.

I'm a pretty competent swimmer, if I do say so myself. My parents made me take lessons as a kid, and I've been swimming ever since. I've never competed on any teams, or anything like that, since my parents are always moving, but I'd like to think that I would have taken my team to the finals. Too bad I've never actually been on a team.

I started off simply; treading water for ten minutes. After that, I practiced my backstrokes and did a few laps around the pool. I switched back and forth between backstroke and breast stroke. It got my heart racing after a good ten minutes, but I pressed on. I'm the sort of guy who likes to push himself. Call me an idiot if you want, I don't care. If you push you're self, you can only come out stronger than before.

About half an hour later I came out of the pool. I was sitting on the edge for a bit; just trying to catch my breath. I wasn't out of shape or anything like that. But even the strongest swimmer gets tired after about thirty laps without stopping. After a few deep breaths, I grabbed my towels and walked back into the house. It was super cold inside, because of the air conditioning. I quickly dried off and walked up the stairs to my room.

I stopped at the lading. I could hear my cat meowing.

I ran up the stairs, turned the corner to my bedroom door.

I opened the door to see a rather strange sight.

Now, let me stop here and say that I am definitely not crazy. I can be a little neurotic at times, and I do tend to exaggerate. But I am not lying when I say that I was watching the strangest battle in my room right at that moment. There were two very big birds in my room, seemingly threatening my cat. I'm no ornithologist, but I know a bald eagle when I see one. It was ripping at my drapes, and tearing away the fabric on my bed sheets. The other bird was some sort of hawk. My cat was clawing at it. Good; that would show that bird what's what.

Suddenly, the hawk was flying. It was trying to get my blue box!

"Hey, give me back my blue box!" I shouted, leaping at the cabinet where the bird had snatched the tiny blue cube.

But I wasn't aiming for the box, or the bird. I was aiming for one of the drawers.

I pulled out a drawer and started digging for my BB gun. Mom thought my dad confiscated it. But dad let me keep it. My dad doesn't see the harm in guns, as long as you're responsible. Besides, it was just a children's toy. The most it could do was cause the birds a bit of pain.

Alright, it could have crippled the birds. But that's not my problem. They were the ones who just broke into _my _house, and stealing _my _things. I was defending myself.

So, I started shooting off the BB gun like it was an actual weapon. It seemed to catch the eagle off guard, but the hawk had flow right past me with the box. My cat ran straight out of the room after it; with the eagle following in hot pursuit. I was running down the stairs like a madman.

This next part you will not believe!

While I was grabbing the blue box from the hawk, the eagle actually opened the sliding glass door in the kitchen! I kid you not! It used its beak to pull open a door that must have weighed about a hundred pounds! Had it not been supported by the wall and the door frame, the sliding door could have crushed the bird in about five seconds flat.

Or, rather, five seconds splat!

The birds flew out through the door. I had my box. My cat was making odd choking noises in the background.

"And don't come back!" I shouted into the night; firing the BB gun into the air, just for dramatic effect.

My parents were taking one of their usual walks, so I had the house to myself. And, of course, they wouldn't believe me when I told them about trained birds of prey flying through my bedroom window and terrorizing my bedroom, just to steal a stupid blue box.

No. It wasn't a _stupid _blue box. Obviously it was an _important _blue box, if birds were breaking into a house to steal it! This wasn't an accident. And those were definitely not ordinary birds. Someone was on to me, and they wanted this box. But I couldn't tell you why.

So, I stood there in the remains of my bedroom, staring out a window with a very large hole placed in the middle.

"I am so grounded." I mumbled.


	5. Chapter 5

Alright, so after the bird invasion the other night, I decided to take a nice long look at my blue box. Unfortunately, I had to wait until just before I went to bed, because my parents just so happened to walk into the house the moment the birds left. They were asking me what I was shouting about, and wouldn't believe me when I told them that some sort of hawk and an eagle just broke into the house. Can you believe it?

Anyways, long story short, I'm pretty much grounded. My dad wasn't too happy when he walked into my room and found a broken window. He nailed some plywood against the frame to stop the air from outside from coming in, but I thought it looked stupid. He told me that it would have to do until they could replace the window. And that's pretty much when he decided to ground me for the rest of the week.

Sure, I could have argued; could have told him how unfair it was to be grounded for something that I didn't even do. But what good would that have done? Arguing with my father is like poking a lazy bear with a stick; why bother making it mad?

So, anyways, there I was, lying on my bed and staring at the blue box in my head. I was thinking, _what's so great about you? What is so important that I'm having birds break into my house?_

Earlier I decided that someone must have seen me at the construction site the other day. I figured the place was probably bugged, or being watched, or something. I mean, why would someone want to keep a place like that around? You'd think that the mayor would have had the place torn down once production stopped. I've moved to all sorts of places, and I'm a pretty smart kid.

And, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. There must be something odd going down at the construction site. I couldn't tell you what, exactly, but it could only be sinister. Maybe it was some sort of test? I mean, some rich thug, or someone like that just leaves a blue box lying around, waiting for some curious kid to pick it up. Next thing you know, the thug sends his trained birds of prey to steal it from said kid's house. I guess he didn't think I'd be armed.

I figured that I had something valuable in my hands right then. I took a few snapshots of the box and uploaded them onto my computer. Within an hour I had the pictures of the box, as well as a description, set up on eBay. And just thirty minutes after that, I had someone emailing me, saying he was interested in the box. And, get this—he was willing to go anywhere, anytime, and pay any amount.

So, once again, I woke up extra early the next morning. It's really unlike me. My mom saw me eating cereal by the television and said something along the lines of, "Hell must have frozen over. David is awake at six a.m." But whatever. I was just too excited to stay in bed. In just a few hours I could very well be a wealthy man. Well…wealthier.

But then I started to really think about it. I couldn't just send this guy my personal information and expect him to be decent. He could just rob my house while I'm at school. Or he could make a scene when it came to making the trade. Whatever he did, I would be screwed. So, I timed the email so it would be sent just as I got home from school. That would give me maybe an hour before this guy came to see the box.

But that still left one minor problem. I'm a smart guy, but I'm useless in a fight. If you need someone to plan something out, I'm your guy. If you want someone to analyze a fishy situation, you'd call David. But I'm not some random thug. The last fight I was in, I nearly had most of my teeth kicked in. So, I'd need some back up; someone willing to do whatever I'd say without question. I needed a yes-man. I would have to get somebody who wouldn't expect a big cut of the prize.

Unfortunately, I was the new kid. And I only knew one person at school.

Marco was standing in the lunch line of the cafeteria. He looked at the food like it was something a dog would eat—which wasn't too far from the truth. I really didn't want to have to talk to him, but I didn't have much of a choice. Sure, he wasn't my first choice for a friend—he was obnoxious, jittery, and something of a moron—but it was definitely better than sitting alone at some table at the back of the cafeteria.

"You said your name is Marco, right?" I asked.

He jerked around like some kind of bug. Like, you know a cockroach will twitch if you spray it with aerosol—that's what he looked like.

"Yea. Marco." He said, just as jittery. "David, right?"

I nodded. Then, I caught a whiff of the food the cafeteria was serving. I looked down at the slop and mumbled, "The food was better at my last school."

"That would pretty much have to be true. It couldn't be any worse. Not unless your last school was a prison."

I think he was making a joke. I couldn't tell with this kid. I think he's the class-clown type. I always hated the class clown.

So, I just tried continuing the conversation. "I don't have any friends here yet. Something really weird happened to me yesterday. Very weird. Want to hang?"

"Sure. So, what—"

The cafeteria lady interrupted him, asking him what he wanted to eat. Marco made some joke about the food, but I wasn't paying attention. Besides, I didn't find him very funny anyways. So, we picked up our excuse for food and headed to an empty table. I sat down across from Marco and started to tell my interesting story.

"Remember that blue box I showed you yesterday?"

Marco thought about it for a bit. He remembered.

I looked around to make sure nobody was listening and leaned in very close. "Last night someone tried to steal it. And you'll never guess how they did it. Trained birds."

He didn't believe me.

"Two birds flew in my bedroom window and tried to get away with the box. Fortunately, my cat, Megadeth, went after one."

"You named your cat Megadeth?"

"I just wish my snake had been out of his box. He's had his venom taken out, but I bet it would have scared those birds."

He seemed shocked by that. "Snake?"

"Yea, he's really cool. He's a cobra. You're not even supposed to be able to own them, but my dad got it for me. He's a spy. But don't tell anyone."

"Ooookay."

I thought about it. I remembered what my mom told me about bragging. Maybe that's what Marco thought I was doing.

"Look, I know it sounds weird and all, but those birds were not ordinary birds. One of them opened a sliding glass door. It was an eagle, I think."

"Why would anyone want to steal that blue box?" he asked me.

"I don't know. But it must be valuable, right? Or else why would someone go to all the trouble of using trained birds?"

He seemed to agree with that.

"Anyway, I bet it's worth a lot of money. So I'm going to try and sell it."

"Sell it?"

Man, was this guy jittery. "Yea. I posted a 'for sale sign' on a couple of Web pages last night after all this went down. I described it. And I described those symbols, the ones that looked like foreign writing? This morning before school, I checked, and there was already an answer. Some guy says he wants to see it. He says he'll pay good money. Says he'll go anywhere, anytime."

Now Marco got really jittery. I was so tempted to tell the kid to switch to decaffe

but then I thought that he might have had some kind of condition, like Parkinson's or something.

"You did what?"

Or maybe he's just a jittery guy…

"I'm thinking I should have some back up, you know?" I said, ignoring my own thought. "Someone to cover me, in case anything goes down. You're the only guy I know here."

"You didn't give this guy your address, did you?"

I almost laughed out loud. "I'm not a moron. The guy could just rip me off while I'm stuck here at school. I set it up on a timer so the E-mail with my address won't go out till right before I get home."

"It's on automatic?" He asked.

"I send the E-mail, the guy comes over, and I give you ten percent for helping me out." I told him. And I really would give him ten percent. I'm a man of my word.

And, funny enough, Marco got really calm and said, "Good plan."

"Yea, I figure these guys are out to get this box." I went on, stuffing whatever food this school served into my mouth. "And he probably has other birds too; falcons and hawks, maybe even seagulls for covert missions. It could be a conspiracy, you know? Like, a bird invasion."

Marco kept nodding his head.

"Or maybe it isn't just birds. Maybe these people have lions, and tigers, and bears, and things like that."

I expected Marco to say something along the lines of, "Oh my," but he didn't. In fact, Marco didn't say a word through the rest of lunch. He just got up from the table, very quickly—suspiciously quickly—and ran out of the cafeteria.

Now, a normal person would have seen Marco running and thought, "He's probably off to the bathroom."

But I'm relatively paranoid. I saw Marco running like some kind of crazy person and thought, "That kid's up to something."

Maybe he'd try to rip me off, too…


End file.
